Between a Rock and a Hard Place
by Monster Mads
Summary: The world's Intelligence agencies have all heard of him – but who is he really? The ambassadors have come to the agreement that Alex Rider will be subjected to an interview in order to get a better grasp on the teenage enigma's motives. Two-shot.
1. Answers

**This is an idea that hit me when I was sitting at home one Saturday night, bored out of my mind. My dad told me about something called the Proust Questionnaire. The Proust Questionnaire is a questionnaire that focuses on the interviewee's personality. The reason it's so widely used (and the roots of the name) lead back to Marcel Proust who was this great guy, I believe – but if you're really interested, visit the Wikipedia page, it's really fascinating. I don't have a great understanding of it, mind you, so if this seems a little choppy… sorry about that x3**

* * *

Alex Rider, age fourteen and teenage spy, was not someone easily persuaded into anything. He liked to know the facts and reasoning behind something, and had never been one to take bullshit answers without a fight. The little details that went unsaid always bothered him, so he was known to take action and dig deeper for answers. That's why it would seem so unlikely he would agree to an interview.

MI6 no longer had a secret weapon. Certainly a weapon of amazing ability, but Alex's pseudo-employment with the British intelligence agency was fairly common knowledge among the top-secret organizations at this point. After working with the ASIS and CIA, news spread past the KGB and all the way through Asia, reaching nearly every continent's department of life-and-death "gossip". Alex Rider was a fact now, a borderline legend, and after such popularity among the world's most secret associations, it was easily answered as to why many people were looking for answers. Who was this kid? Where had he come from? And why was he able to pull off succession after succession despite limited training (with the SAS, no matter, who offered very little education in the area of espionage)? Politicians became involved as news of the young boy spread, and soon a meeting was held.

"Very little is known about Britain's young 'operative'. It is no wonder why you're all in a state of distress. He has seen and heard much more than the average fourteen year old, and you must be wondering what kind of child he must be so be able to pull of such huge undertakings. Therefore, since MI6 is reluctant to share what they don't want to, a compromise has been offered. The boy, one Alex John Rider, will be given the widely known Proust Questionnaire."

This proclamation was met with silence. No one dared to breathe as the representative continued his explanation.

"This, while being rather unorthodox, will give some insight into the child's personality, stability and, ultimately, dependability. MI6 has promised to cooperate, and we have been told he won't be informed of his, shall we say, _interview _until the very last minute to prevent any sort of planning. He is a fourteen year old boy, and spy or not, he has accomplished some amazing things. We will be forced to trust that he answer honestly.

"The interview will be held a week from now. This decision has been agreed upon by all ambassadors with finality. This meeting is adjourned."

So, a week later, Alex received a call asking him to the Royal Bank and General. He was assured that this was not anything that involved leaving the country, or even Chelsea for that matter, though it would call for some wit on his part. He was also told to be honest, but also smart. When Alex arrived, instead of being taken to see Blunt as he normally did, he was lead into a room one floor below the one that housed MI6's head of special operations.

A woman in her early thirties with tightly wound hair and a cool expression greeted him. He was reminded of a brunette Mrs. Jones, but shook it off. Now wasn't the time to get distracted – he needed to find out what this was about.

"Why am I here?" He asked the woman, who'd earlier introduced herself as Veronica Faring, an ambassador of the GIO, or global intelligence organization. She explained that he was to be interviewed for the next two hours, and breaks would be allowed for the bathroom only. He wasn't allowed to leave until it was over, but he was permitted to ask for recess anytime he felt the need. Alex nodded slowly, taking in all the facts, considering the explanations behind it, and all the while planning the specific castration of a certain Alan Blunt. This had been sprung on him with all the predictability of a landmine.

Mrs. Faring nodded at him and then shut the door, leaving him to look around. He was in a room with a single coffee table and two plush chairs. A bowl of mixed nuts had been placed on the table, as had a pitcher of ice water and two glasses held atop coasters. Suddenly, Alex felt like some kind of movie star. He wondered what kind of questions they would ask – had they meant interrogation when they'd said interview? Surely if he was in for anything dangerous they wouldn't have left the surroundings so comfortable. For once, Alex would have to trust what MI6 had told him and just go along with things.

He took a seat in one of the chairs, but he wasn't waiting long before the door opened again and a short dark-haired man walked in. He was young enough to still be in his mid-twenties, his hazel eyes wide behind a pair of glasses. When he saw Alex he smiled, and that seemed to brighten up the dull look somewhat – however, Alex had learned not to trust appearances as a young age.

"Hello, Alex. How are you doing?"

"Fine." He answered curtly. The raven looked appeased at the easy answer, sitting down in the chair opposite of him and pulling out a small notepad attached to a clipboard, along with a pen. He looked up to see Alex watching him carefully, chocolate eyes cool and calculative. Already the man was impressed with the teenager in front of him. Clearing his throat, he started again.

"Well, my name is Sebastian Emerson, and I'll be interviewing you today. Feel free to ask me if you'd like to take a break anytime, but for the majority of the time this thing will go past a lot faster if you answer truthfully, okay?"

"Sure." Alex responded, signaling for the man to go on. Emerson cleared his throat again, taking a tape recorder from the pocket of his coat before asking the first question.

"What is your idea of perfect happiness?"

It was a strange question, but Alex forced himself to think for a moment and answer accordingly. He guessed what Mrs. Faring had meant by "be smart" – make sure you don't say anything compromising, like "well, I do wish Scorpia and MI6 would leave me alone because all I want is a normal life and no more bullet wounds".

He opened his mouth to answer, paused, and then tried again. "I guess… a weekend away everything? I don't know. It'd be nice to be able to relax with my friends."

Emerson looked pleased with this answer, so he went on.

"What is your greatest fear?"

Images flooded his mind at this question – of Jack, a pool of blood growing beneath her prone figure. Sabina, sprawled out beside her, unmoving. Tom, and the rest of his class, all gone from the world. He swallowed.

"Spiders."

Emerson gave a plastic laugh, smiling and going on comfortably.

"Alright, this is great. Now, what is the trait you most deplore in yourself?"

This one was easy. He grinned and answered with, "Probably whatever trait makes me such a pushover."

Emerson nearly snorted. This child was hardly any kind of pushover. Nevertheless, he continued. "What is the trait you most deplore in others?"

"I'd say insanity. It makes them rather unpredictable."

In fact, nearly all the villains Alex had encountered had been mad in some right. He decided fighting a sane person would be a lot easier, although he didn't have much experience in the area if he were to be _really _honest.

"Which living person do you most admire?"

This one also came easily. He couldn't think of anyone else more admirable than the red-haired American that stuck by him through thick and thin. She'd gone through a lot more than the job description had offered, and despite everything, still refused to go.

"My housekeeper, Jack."

Emerson glanced up, surprised. Somehow, he'd expected to hear something like the president, but it was also obvious that Alex Rider wasn't a predictable character.

"What is your greatest extravagance?"

Alex didn't quite know what to answer this one with. He didn't really have any extravagances, so he answered dryly,

"I guess I'd have to say all the brilliant gadgets I receive from Mr. Smithers."

Emerson hadn't expected this answer, either. Mr. Smithers? Probably a toymaker of some sort if he was to guess.

"What is your current state of mind?"

This was where what Mrs. Faring had told him came in. No joking around with anything like "just a little off my rocker" and a crazy smile. He answered straight-faced.

"Sane enough."

He was told to be smart, but he was also told to be honest.

Shuffling his feet, Emerson smiled unsteadily. This was turning out to be a really strange interview. He hadn't been told who this kid was or any of the things he'd seen, just that he'd be interviewing a special fourteen year old and it was crucial that it went well.

"What do you consider the most overrated virtue?"

Alex laughed. "Innocence."

This was an unusual answer as well. Just who was this kid?

"On what occasion do you lie?"

Oh, this was rich. Alex was actually glad he'd gone along with this – it was proving to be pretty amusing. He could tell Emerson hadn't been told much about him, so he smiled and explained,

"Whenever the situation calls for it._ Little white lies_ only, I assure you."

"What do you most dislike about your appearance?"

Alex frowned. He'd always held a sort of held a fondness for his eyes – they were a memento of his mother. He'd gotten his fair hair from his grandfather, he'd been told – the same color as Ian, but different from his father's dark locks. All in all, Alex had been told he was attractive to say the least, but in the end, Sabina _had_ only given him a twelve out of twenty. Granted she'd also added that he'd be perfect in a few years – though that wasn't the point.

Shaking his head, Alex responded when the answer popped into his head. "My scars."

Emerson swallowed nervously.

"Ah – okay. So, which living person do you most despise?"

This one was simple and easy. He knew the answer and his lips had already twitched into a smile of subtle contempt, but at the same time he knew that answering this one honestly was probably the stupidest thing he could do at the moment.

"Tiger Woods. What – a – _dick,_" he enunciated.

Emerson laughed. Finally a teenage answer.

"What is the quality you most like in a woman?"

Tan skin, long legs and dark luscious hair worked their way into the forefront of his mind. Now it was his turn to tug at the sleeves of his dress shirt, willing the pictures to leave him. _He wouldn't say looks, he wouldn't say looks, he wouldn't say looks…_

But Alex found he didn't even need to. Sabina was more than just a cute girl he stared at a little too long. She'd kept her cool with Damian Cray, offered herself as a pillar of support. Her powerful smile had always made him feel a little better when he was feeling at his worst, and he knew he wouldn't take anything else in a girl.

He looked straight at Emerson, slightly surprised at his own composure. "Strength."

Emerson wanted to sigh. Alex Rider was too good to be true. What kind of answer was _that_ from a fourteen year old boy? He carried on, wishing he could've interviewed Britney Spears or Borat or something.

"What is the quality you most like in a man?"

He thought of his best friend, Tom. The answer came to him when he thought of how Tom never told his secret to anyone, and even went as far as to defend him and dispel every vicious rumor that revolved around him.

"Loyalty."

"Which words or phrases do you most overuse?"

This was a weird question. He wasn't sure – maybe something like "you're insane" or something along those lines?

"Oh, I don't know. Probably 'you'll never get away with it'?" There had been enough crazed villains to allow him justified access to the phrase well over a few times.

This time, Emerson just breezed past it, giving up on the idea of receiving normal answers.

"What or who is the greatest love of your life?"

_Jesus Christ, can I ever catch a break?_

"Pie. Love it, can't get enough of it."

Emerson shot him a _what the hell are you saying now? _look. Alex had been avoiding the question and used his favorite weapon – sarcasm.

"When and where were you happiest?"

"_Hey, Alex, rub more sunscreen on my back, would you?"_

_Damn it. _"I had a school play in grade four. It was really fun."

"That sounds nice. Which talent would you most like to have?"

He had _no_ idea how to answer this question. Which talent? Maybe the talent to disappear into thin air, or create a black hole beneath his feet to be sucked into. There were quite a few times he wouldn't have minded doing this. He forced himself to give out a normal, fake answer, though.

"I've always wanted to play guitar." In truth, Ian Rider had never been willing to pay for music lessons. He'd wanted to take up an instrument when he was younger, but the man insisted that he should focus his attention on something more important, like his karate or language arts. It always seemed like a personal thing until Alex learned the truth about his uncle. Now, he didn't really care all that much.

"If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?"

This one was also hard, but at the same time he decided to go with a surface answer, one easy and truthful at the same time. "I'd really like to be taller." After all, his youth was what made him so valuable, right? If he was taller he might not be MI6's first option as a teenage spy.

"What do you consider your greatest achievement?" Emerson carried on, accepting the answer easily.

"The time I managed to make Yorkshire puddings and not have them all deflate. It's a risky business," he confessed with a loose smile. The man might have taken this answer in stride if he couldn't see how Alex was carefully evaluating these answers in his head, eyes narrowed with concentration. While the glass expression was perfect – one of comfortable false contentment and easy curiosity – there was something in those chocolate depths that just screamed _power._

Emerson shivered, wondering how the boy managed to be so in control of the situation. Emerson was sure he was feeling more intimidated than this kid ever did. However, he forced himself to continue, wishing he'd said no to the job. He was feeling more than a little rattled by Alex Rider's presence – after all, the kid was an enigma.

"If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be?" Emerson asked, still jotting down Alex's response on paper from the last question. Alex rolled the questioned over in his mind, answering after a moment's thoughts,

"A pineapple. Chill all day in the sun… That's the life," he told Emerson, images of a tropical island vacation wafting through his brain. If anyone needed the break, he did. Emerson's eyes flickered up, incredulity written into the dark depths. He tried to school his expression into one less profound, though.

"Where would you most like to live?"

"France," Alex answered effortlessly, "preferably the South." The good memories of staying with Sabina far outweighed the ones from his time spent at Point Blanc, and besides that, he'd worked with the CIA, MI6, and the ASIS. He had yet to be exploited by the French Intelligence services.

"Yes, that'd be nice," Emerson concluded, glancing down at the sheet in his hands for the next question after he finished jotting down that answer. "What is your most treasured possession?"

Well, he didn't really put a lot of value into possessions, but he did his best to answer anyway. "I have a wooden beaded necklace I got on vacation once from a friend. It's pretty important to me."

"What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?"

Here come the harder questions, once again. Alex thought hard, his mind immediately grabbing for his entire scope of memories spent captive, or worse – when he was still working for Scorpia. Hard times, those were. Eyes darkening, he replied coolly,

"The point where you realize that the good side and the bad side are both going to screw you over one way or another. Also, when you find out that girls your age are impressed by Justin Bieber but you're still considered a loser."

Emerson didn't even _try_ to dissect that one. Justin Bieber was one of the names on his list of people to interview once he became big, anyway.

"What is your favorite occupation?"

Oh, this was great. Alex wondered if they wanted to hear him say spy.

_Assassin_ was what he wanted to say just to be annoying, but he slammed his big mouth shut in favor of saying with a pleasing smile, "Professional athlete." After all, the joke would cost him a lot more than it would cost Blunt. He was sure his time spent in Venice had been carefully covered up, anyway.

"What is your most marked characteristic?" Emerson asked next, glad for the break in strange answers. Alex tapped his fingers on his knee, answering brightly,

"Sarcasm."

"… Right. And what do you most value in your friends?"

"Friendliness?" He suggested, eyebrows furrowing. He was just messing with the man now. Emerson scribbled down the response before carrying on, his voice a lot shakier and rushed than it had been when he'd first entered, all cheesy smiles and confident underestimation. The blonde supposed Emerson wanted nothing more than to escape from this room now.

"Who are your favorite writers?"

"Don't got any," Alex replied languidly, stretching out on his chair. "I mean, J.K. Rowling? She's British, isn't she? Lovely."

Emerson stared. Then he sighed and gave up, continuing in a defeated-sounding voice, "Who is your hero of fiction?"

"James Bond," he replied instantly, knowing any other answer was completely unacceptable. Emerson nodded silently, moving on.

"Which historical figure do you most identify with?"

"I have no clue," he offered, never bothering to think these ones through. He hated the reference questions, and didn't really feel like giving it all that much thought. In the beginning of the interview, Emerson probably would've pressed for an answer, but now he accepted it without a hitch. These thirty-five questions were the most tiring ones he'd ever asked in his life.

"Who are your heroes in real life?" He breathed, looking up at Alex, who was peering at him _artlessly,_ of all things.

This question came easily to mind. He thought of Yassin Gregorovich, and the way his father and he had worked together. The man may of made a mess of his life near the end, but he was still someone Alex considered extremely strong, mentally and physically. Though giving the name of a world-renowned killer as his real-life hero was probably not something Mrs. Faring would consider as _smart._

"My mom and dad," he shrugged, knowing that this was also true. To think his mother would stick by his father even though their life together had become so complicated was impressive to say the least, and the things his father had accomplished were astounding. They were both considered _good guys, _too, so that meant it was a safe answer.

"What are your favorite names?" Emerson continued, satisfied.

_And they want to know this _why_, exactly?_ Alex wondered, pondering the answers. He hadn't given much thought to his 'favorite names', so he decided to bullshit it.

"Alex and Jack," he piped up. "Emerson is a nice name too though."

Emerson resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _Four more questions, _he motivated himself. _Then I'm free._

"What is it that you most dislike?"

_MI6. The SAS. Gossips. Interviews. Insane villains, trying to take over the world – __**Ash.**_

"School dances. Who goes to them, anyways, besides the preps?"

Yes, playing the simple teenager card would work just fine for this one.

"What is your greatest regret?" Emerson hurried on, knowing he was nearly done. _So close._

Alex wondered. He had quite a few, to say the least – trusting his Godfather, allowing Wolf to get shot in the Alps, not realizing he was being played by his only living relative his whole life, taking Yassin's advice and tracking down Scorpia and biggest of all, seeking out the truth surrounding his uncle's death. _'… car accident, tragic, really. The poor boy's an orphan now, I suspect, unless that housekeeper of his decides to step up. Oh, I do hope she does…'_

But he once again chose to reply on a half-truth. "I once hijacked a crane and tossed a drug lab into the ocean. If only I'd stopped and thought about the fish… I wonder how many of them were forced to go to rehab because of that? The fish interventions alone must have been numerous to say the least… I families I must have torn apart…"

_What the hell?! _Emerson inwardly wailed, hand clenching around the pencil he held above the papers. Grinding his teeth, he forced a strained smile, not bothering to confirm the kid's story. Before he'd entered the room he would've laughed it off. Now he was left thinking about how many fish Anonymous sessions were being held in that particular spot underwater.

"How would you like to die?"

Well, how he'd _like_ to die and how was _going_ to die were two very different ways. Alex very much doubted he'd make it past thirty, but he smiled and responded truthfully all the same.

"Peacefully in my sleep." _How boring._

Emerson allowed a peaceful smile to grace his features when he realized he was on the last question. Glancing at where Alex was splayed out in the armchair, he asked breathlessly, "What is your motto?"

Alex couldn't properly answer. A motto? Didn't people just have those in crappy TV shows and even crappier books? Emerson was squinting at him, eager for the kid to answer so he would be able to finally just _leave, _when Alex's mouth opened and he paused before answering finally.

"Never say never."

It was quite possibly the corniest thing he could've said, but it no doubt fit. How many times had he managed to bite back against all odds? Gotten out of situations that _promised_ death?

How many times had he thought _I will never let myself be used by Blunt ever again?_

Emerson scrawled the words down on the paper hastily, standing up when he was finished and hurriedly reaching forward to shake Alex's hand.

"Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Rider. It was i-interesting." He stressed, eyes moving over to where he'd entered, just to make sure the door was still there and available for exit. After a beat of silence in which Emerson was lost in thought and Alex was giving him a disturbed look on the basis that the interviewer had yet to let go of his hand, Emerson finally looked up and tore his grasp away, looking apologetic. Then he dashed out the door, leaving the clipboard on the armchair.

Alex ran a hand through his blonde hair, mumbling quietly, "Well _that_ went well." Then he reached forward, gathering a handful of the mixed nuts in his hand before tossing them into his mouth, chewing absently. They tasted bland and seemed more for appearances only, much like the rest of this room. When Mrs. Veronica Faring came out a moment later, he had a pleasant, relaxed expression on his face – a stark contrast to the interviewer's who she'd watched flee through the hallways under a minute ago.

"I trust the interview was enlightening?" She asked impartially, raising an eyebrow. Alex stood up and walked over to the door, peering around the corner just in time to catch Emerson trip in his haste to get into the elevator, crashing into a tall woman and spilling her coffee all over the both of them

He slowly leaned back and met her eyes.

"That's one way of putting it.

* * *

**Yorkshire puddings, the tricky bastards.**

**_Also, when you find out that girls your age are impressed by Justin Bieber but you're still considered a loser…_ Bias author is bias?**

**And I know, I know, wandering damn POV, but I couldn't help it! I wanted to write it from both of theirs and I just couldn't decide, so I decided _fuck it._ Who cares? It's only for fun, anyway. And in case you're wondering, no, this story has nothing to do with Life's a Beach. Just a normal Alex Rider fic.**

**Enjoy and please review! There's no point in posting them up here if I don't get any feedback :[**


	2. Choices

If it's been a while since you've read this story, I suggest you go back and skim over the last chapter, since there are a lot of references to it in this one. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Non-profit; all rights reserved to Mr. Anthony Horowitz.

o0o0o0o

* * *

Although the results of Alex Rider's interview had been photocopied and sent off to each individual country's central intelligence agency, all of the ambassadors had gathered once again to go over the results as a whole. Many were thinking of borrowing the boys talents, while others were left scratching their heads at the odd answers Rider had managed to produce. Word had also travelled that Sebastian Emerson, the man who interviewed Alex, had managed to secure an interview with Billie Piper, but was unfortunately hit by a car while crossing the road. This was reportedly because he'd crossed while the light was green, but failed to notice due to his occupation in reading Harry Potter. The first novel, for anyone curious enough to ask – his last words were, "_But why J.K Rowling?_"

This was of no concern to those gathered here today. Having each read over the results beforehand, they all knew the answers, but a buzz had begun in the room despite this – apparently conflicting opinions had come into play at some point during the waiting period.

Waiting period for what, you may ask? Not what, but _who. _Two people's presence had been requested on this day – one Alex John Rider and one Alan Sheldon Blunt. According to recent rumors, Sheldon was originally Blunt's first name and Alan his middle, but he'd switched them and tried to cover it up. Tulip Jones had revealed this fact to a source one drunken night last Christmas, but it was old news by now. No one was talking about Sheldon in this room. No, they were talking about _Rider._

Alex Rider was currently lying on his stomach with a game controller in hand, skilled fingers slamming down on worn buttons as blaring noises roared from the TV in front of him – and from the boy next to him. Tom, in all his black-haired blue-eyed glory, had stayed over the previous night due to a particularly harsh fight between his parents, who'd gotten so worked up they'd failed to remember to unlock the door for Tom when school ended. Tom, with a heavy sigh, turned around and headed for the tube station, not bothering to look back.

**K.O.!**

Tom glared at the game controller, chucking it at the smirking blonde next to him in a fit of poor sportsmanship. Alex flipped onto his back to dodge, but the controller still knocked him over the head, which is the scene Jack Starbright walked in on upon her entrance less than a second later.

Alex groaned and rubbed his head while Tom perked up, greeting the redhead with a chipper, "Jack! Something up?"

"You could say that…" The American replied, sending Alex a disturbed look. "There's someone at the door for you, Alex."

Alex opened one eye and peered over at her, his exaggerated actions cut off by the tone of voice she was using. Her eyes conveyed warning.

"Who is it?" He asked, instantly on guard. Tom looked between the two in confusion.

"Tall… dark hair… smells of peppermint–"

Alex pushed himself up off the ground, throwing a distracted "I'll be right back," over his shoulder to his best friend. Tom glanced over at Jack.

"Aren't you going to go with him?" Jack turned to Tom and shrugged, looking suddenly tired.

"He's got it under control."

Alex made his way down the stairs, uncaring as to how he appeared in nothing other than a loose T-shirt and dark blue pajama pants. His eyes sought out the door, where, as expected, Mrs. Jones stood, looking as cold and indifferent as ever. He could smell the peppermint and he wasn't even halfway down the stairs yet.

"I'd almost rather you smoked," he commented as he approached the taller woman, who chose to ignore the comment in favor of offering a benign smile.

"Alex, how are you?"

"Fine, I suppose," he answered, watching her carefully, "what can I do for you?"

It was just like him to cut to the chase – why else would Mrs. Jones be standing on his doorstep? She had better things to do than enjoy a cup of tea with a fourteen year old boy, after all. Better they skip the pleasantries right off the bat.

"You do remember that interview you were subjected to last week?" She asked, and Alex leaned back on his heels. He remembered it all right.

"Something wrong?"

"Nothing at all. However, there's one more thing we'd like you to do – I'll explain on the way." Alex weighed his options briefly – go with her now, or fight it, waste a bunch of energy, and go with her later? If it was another mission, she probably wouldn't be bringing up the interview – and he wouldn't be detecting the faint rush in her dark eyes. He took a deep breath.

"Alright." He moved to step out, but Mrs. Jones didn't move. Giving her a curious look, she cleared her throat.

"Perhaps it would be more appropriate if you donned slippers, Alex?"

"Is that your attempt at sarcasm, Mrs. Jones?"

She remained silent, so Alex turned around and leaped back up the stairs, passing Jack and Tom in the hallway. The two turned to watch him disappear into his bedroom, reappearing a minute later wearing jeans and a dark shirt. He grinned.

"Duty calls."

"Alex, you're not gonna–"

"I shouldn't be gone for more than a few hours. Right, Mrs. Jones?"

"Correct," she called down from the bottom of the stairs. Jack gave him a long, withering look before conceding, placing her hands in the air as a gesture of surrender.

"Why do I bother…" she muttered before turning to Tom. "So… do you like to clean?"

Tom made a face, but the good humor in his eyes made it clear he'd do anything for the housekeeper that treated him just as much the little brother as she did Alex. Alex waved goodbye to them before closing the door and turning towards Mrs. Jones.

"Ten bucks says the car we're about to get into is black."

"Dark gray, Alex. Dark gray."

"It's black." He told her flatly, stepping into the back seat. Silence fell over them as Mrs. Jones sped through the city. Alex scratched his head.

"So, hey, remember that time I tried to kill you?"

"Is that your attempt at small talk, Alex?" Mrs. Jones asked, imitating his earlier quip as she turning around a corner. Alex sighed, looking out the window. After a pause, he began to whistle quietly, quite obviously bored. Eventually Mrs. Jones made a sharper than necessary turn, throwing him against the door and causing his face to collide with the window, cutting him off.

"… You could've at least let me finish the last verse." He said as he massaged his jaw.

"Oh, you were actually trying for a song?" To her credit, she sounded genuinely curious.

"It was _Celebration._ You know,_ celebrate good times, come on…_"

"Let's get down to business, Alex. After that interview last week, the heads of the leading intelligence agencies around the globe are somewhat curious. To read about you is one thing – even words from your own mouth – but now they want to meet you." If Alex listened carefully, he could detect a slight amount of frustration in her voice. He supposed he was annoyed that they couldn't be satisfied with anything but this.

"Just how long is this drive going to be?" Alex asked.

"Not long. It's just at the Royal and General Bank."

"The Royal and General doesn't exist, Mrs. Jones." Alex informed her seriously. There was a certain thrill that came with being so annoying; how could Alex resist?

"Oh look, another corner," she observed.

"So I'm just gonna shut up now."

o0o0o0o

* * *

When the two entered, Alex immediately felt the cool rush of air conditioning hit him. The bank looked as it always did – moderately busy, nothing too rushed, with an undeniably professional air to it. He felt a headache coming on just looking around.

Mrs. Jones led him over to an elevator, popping a peppermint into her mouth just before entering. Alex managed to resist the urge to roll his eyes, but it was struggle for a moment there. They stood with nothing but the soft elevator music occupying the background – that and the heavy breathing of a bald man standing over Alex. He'd attempted to inch away, but then he hit the wall and call him paranoid but it felt as if the man was inching along as well.

When they hit the third floor a couple seconds after entered, Alex jumped out right after the doors opened wide enough for him to do so, followed by the bald man. Mrs. Jones opened her mouth in surprise as though about to say something, but the peppermint slipped from her mouth and hit the ground. She was distracted in looking down at it, and in that timeframe the doors closed between them. Alex watched in resignation as the numbers above him lit up the four, five, six, five, four, and then three again. The doors opened once more, revealing Mrs. Jones looking at him with a thread of impatience in her normally blank expression.

"That was his stop, not ours."

"If you ever told me things ahead of time rather than having me follow you about like a lamb to slaughter, I might not do these things," he returned evenly. They stared each other down for a couple seconds longer until the doors began to close, and Mrs. Jones' arm shot out to block them.

"In you get," she said, and he regretfully stepped forward into the elevator once again. They arrived at the sixth floor shortly after that, and this time both of them exited the cramped space. There was a door at the end of the hallway, and it seemed as though the two were heading for that, so Alex cast a longing look back at the escape route the elevator provided before moving along behind her.

Mrs. Jones gave a short knock before opening the door, smiling at the dozens of eyes that turned to look at the pair. Alex swallowed, just now feeling a little nervous. It had just hit him how important the people in this room were. Their opinion of him could make or break his future. He spotted Ms. Veronica Faring at the back of the room and gave an anxious sort of wave, but she didn't return it. _Aw, that's cold._

Rows of seats stretched out in the large room, all bench-like in appearance and slowly climbing higher the farther back they went. There were two chairs at the other end of the room – one was occupied by Alan Blunt, while the other was empty.

"Take a seat, Alex," Blunt said, waving at the chair next to him. Alex hesitated, and then did as he was told.

It was a very big room – there had to be just under a hundred people there, all looking down at him from their aged faces. Alex looked over at Mrs. Jones, who was standing off to the side. Her lips curved into what he believed was her version of a reassuring smile, but to him it just looked like she'd undergone a muscle spasm. Her fine eyebrows didn't even twitch.

"Alex Rider," a man in the center of the front row addressed him. His chocolate eyes shot out to meet the speaker's, but they were closed. He was also smiling. What was with all the fake smiles? Was no one genuinely happy to be there?

"That's me," Alex confirmed uneasily. The man nodded.

"Teenage spy extraordinaire. A true hero. You must really care about you country to do what you have done."

Alex could feel Mrs. Jones' gaze burning into him.

"Yeah. Britain's the best," he responded, swallowing hard. There was a hearty laugh from the man. _Um, why are you laughing?_ He wanted to ask, but that would have been downright stupid.

"Um, why are you laughing?"

_Ho, ho, ho, ho – _the man stopped, looking over at him.

"Why, you're an interesting boy, Alex. I've just never encountered a person such as you. Tell me, why – of all the things you've experienced in the past couple months – is the thing you're most scared of spiders?"

Alex looked at him blankly, having no clue where he got that from. Then something in his mind clicked, and he remembered his answer in the interview last week. He'd said spiders, hadn't he?

"Oh, right – it's all the legs. I'm not a big fan of the octopuses, either."

_Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho!_ Alex wanted to know why this man was so intent on impersonating Santa Claus. The guy wasn't even real. However, he waited until his new interrogator had stopped with the plastic laugh.

"Understandable. But they're more scared of you than you are of them, Alex.

"Somehow I doubt that."

_Ho, ho, ho, ho!_ "Tell me about your housekeeper."

Alex looked at him oddly, but complied. "Jack? … Well, she's American… a really awesome cook… and she has bright red hair."

"And you admire her for her cooking?" The man's face lit up in a wide, open mouthed grin. Alex waited for the comedic drums to sound, but after nothing other than silence greeted the joke/question, Alex replied,

"No. I admire her because she puts up with me."

_Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho! _

"You're quite the joker, I see. I trust you were joking when you told us upon our questioning of your state of mind that you were 'sane enough'?"

"For sure," he replied, feeling a little more at ease. Upon accepting that he didn't like this man and his weird fake-ass act of good will, he fell into mission mode Alex – serious, but relaxed enough to allow himself a little satire in his answers here and there. The crowd seemed to notice this change in him, and began whispering quietly. They cut off when the man began speaking again.

"Oh, I just realized I had yet to introduce myself! How rude of me. I'm Jared Gains, the spokesman for this afternoon's discussion."

"Ah."

"So. I've been wondering, Alex. Are there any… _significant others_ in your life? Do you have a girlfriend?"

Pain lanced through him at this question as Sabina's face passed through his mind, but he shook his head wholeheartedly.

"None, sir."

"That's strange – you're a strapping young man. I'd think you'd be popular at your school."

"I used to be," he muttered. Unfortunately, Jared caught this.

"Really? What changed?"

"Er – after my uncle died…" He got off at this with an understanding nod. Suddenly someone appeared next to Jared, leaning towards him and whispering in his ear. Jared stood up, looking excited.

"Oh, well do we ever have something to cheer you up! Alex Rider, let me offer you a gesture of our thanks."

A new woman came forward, holding a small plate and a fork. On the plate was a slice of warm apple pie. Alex stared at it like it was roadkill.

"The love of your life!" Jared enthused, as if the pastry was a check for a million dollars rather than a piece of pie. _Is this a joke?_ Alex wondered as the pie was placed in front of him on the table. Blunt looked faintly unsettled from his place at Alex's side. Alex looked up.

"Thanks…" _All anger, fear, pain – all those times I nearly died – hell, even the bullet to the heart. It was all worth it for this microwaved piece of store-bought pie. How did you know?_ It wasn't even a very big piece, either.

"You're very welcome, Alex. I'm afraid we couldn't secure the Yorkshire puddings or the pineapple," _what the hell?_ "–but no matter – back to the subject at hand! It's my understanding that the South of France is a rather nice place to visit in the summertime. When did you go to France, Alex?"

"Last summer," he replied, "my friend invited me out to stay at her vacation home there."

"_Her?_" The man inquired, "I thought there were no significant others?"

"There aren't," he confirmed calmly.

"This girl wouldn't happen to be _Sabina Pleasure, _would it?" _Of course they know,_ Alex thought with an inward sigh, _how would they _not?

"Yes."

"Ah. You met at Wimbledon, correct? Though I believe she moved to America. Shame about that, I've heard she's apparently quite fetching." _Strapping _and_ fetching? Don't strain yourself, Mr. Gains._

"You heard right," he humored the man, but you'd have to know Alex quite well to be able to catch the dryness in his reply. Mrs. Jones looked at him sharply, while Alan Blunt glanced over at the large clock on the wall.

"Alan Blunt," Jared finally addressed the head of MI6, and Blunt's head snapped down to look at him, wincing slightly at the quick motion. Alex _almost_ laughed.

"So, approximately how many… favors has Alex done you?" He was referring to the missions, of course. Blunt cleared his throat and answered honestly,

"Technically, five."

"Technically? Oh, you're referring to the work Alex has done for the ASIS and the CIA, I'm assuming?"

"That's correct." Blunt's drab, lifeless expression had taken on a slightly more purposeful tone to it – it was amazing that Alex could recognize even that much emotion in the man, though.

"So there have been seven cases this fourteen year old boy has managed to save the world's skin, then."

Murmurs erupted around the room as the ambassadors peeked over to where the seemingly harmless fair-haired teen sat, looking faintly uncomfortable. He seemed so ordinary – no massive brawn on him, not particularly tall or short, no fancy manner of dressing – it was eerie, looking at the kid and _knowing_ that he'd done things none of them could've even _imagined_ about pulling off.

"I suppose."

"Blunt, that's hardly a solid confirmation."

"Then, yes." Alex looked over at Blunt, but his analogy was interrupted by the voice of Jared once again.

"So, Alex: do you like doing what you do?"

He froze. So that's what they were working towards this whole time – the ulterior motive to all the friendly inquiries, and even the piece of pie sitting nearly untouched in front of him. He wasn't about to eat in front of them; especially not something they'd given to him. This was the big question. If he said yes, he thought, then they would continue sending him on missions with a clear conscience. If he said no – what _if _he said no?

Feeling bold, he sat a little straighter, looking Jared right in the eye when he said,

"No."

This time the room was loud with the chorus of speech, everyone talking over one another. Jared slowly held up a hand and everyone fell silent. His eyes had opened to reveal sharp blue depths.

"Then why do you do it?"

Alex caught in the corner of his eye that Blunt's hand was clenched around the arm of his chair, knuckles white with exertion. He paused, mulling over his answer in his head before giving a deep, inward sigh. _This is for you, dad. You too, Ian, you aristocratic bastard._

"It's like you said – I just really love my country. Someone's got to do it, right?"

Awestruck eyes gazed down at him – that a teenager would be willing to sacrifice so much just out of cheer patriotism was an incredible thing. Jared slowly smiled.

"And your work for the Australian and American intelligence agencies?"

Alex rested his elbows on the table in front of him and leaned forward, letting his chin fall onto his clasped hands. He smiled back at Jared, but it wasn't nervous or shaky – it was almost a smirk.

"If the world needs help, who am I to say no?"

Silence fell over the crowd heavily at this reasoning – he'd rendered them speechless. Fourteen years old and already an enigma, this operative was going to go far.

"In that case," Jared drawled, sitting back in his chair languidly, "you wouldn't mind if we made you an official MI6 agent, then? Other countries may call in for help, but if what you said is true, then it's not a problem, correct?"

He was resigned. Alex was goddamn_ good_ at what he did, no one could deny it – and it was a job he'd been trained to do his whole life, unknowingly or otherwise. No one else could do it. Why fight it anymore?

"It's not a problem."

The crowd resumed their whispering, and Jared spoke up once again, easily drowning them out in his booming voice. "Brilliant. Being an official operative means you will also be paid – both for future missions and the seven you have already covertly accomplished."

"Sounds good to me."

"You'll have to return back here in a week when preparations are finished and all the necessary documents have been prepared. I'll leave the rest to Alan Blunt – thank you so much for coming in today, Alex."

"Of course. Thanks for the pie."

Everyone looked at the slice of apple pie still sitting on its plate, significantly cooler than it'd been when it was set down in front of him. He hadn't taken a single bite. Jared waved it off.

"Until next time, Agent Rider." The title rang out through his head. A part of him decided it shouldn't have felt so… right. Another part couldn't help lean back and take the title like he'd never been called anything otherwise. Outwardly, the only thing Alex did was nod.

The man saluted him and a couple people gasped before Jared Gains left the room and slowly the crowd began to file out as well, all sending looks over at Alex Rider, teenage spy extraordinaire. After a few minutes, the only people who remained were Alan Blunt, Mrs. Jones and Alex himself. Mrs. Jones walked forward just as Blunt fixed his dark, narrow eyes on Alex.

"You did… well."

It was the first time Blunt had ever praised him for anything – and compared to the other things he'd done for the man, this had been a cakewalk. His jaw dropped.

"Seriously? _This_ is what you're going to congratulate me for? If I was any less of a man I might just cry for you, Blunt."

Blunt had nothing to say to that, but Mrs. Jones coughed to cover a laugh that nearly escaped her. That would have been interesting – when had this woman ever expressively made any kind of gesture to indicate how she really felt – never mind a positive one? Maybe they were right – maybe he was amazing. He certainly didn't feel amazing. All he really felt at the moment was… kind of hungry.

Mrs. Jones spoke up from where she now stood next to him. "Alan is right, Alex. That was very mature of you."

"Not you too," he complained. The three began to move over to the door.

"So did you mean it? You'd give up your normal life for the better of the country?" She asked him when they were back in the elevator, Blunt having broken away from them upon exited the room without another word. Alex gave her an incredulous look.

"Are you kidding? Hell _no._ I'm not doing it for you, or Britain. I'm doing it for my dad."

A flash of surprise entered the woman's eyes, followed by a deep-rooted respect. Alex looked down at the ground.

"I'd like to say you're a lot like him," Mrs. Jones started wistfully, as they exited the elevator and walked towards the doors, "but you're really not. The two of you are infinitely different."

Alex stayed quiet – any information he could get about either of his parents was something he'd be willing to travel through a third world country with the man who killed them for. Oh wait – he'd already done that, hadn't he?

"I only met Helen a couple times, but I'd say you take after her more. She was… sarcastic."

A grin spread across his face.

"She constantly came in on her own to yell at Blunt when John came back injured from missions."

A surge of affection for his mother hit him.

"She was kidnapped once, to get at your father, but she kept her cool and I was told she nearly made one of the men guarding her cry using nothing more than her own sharp tongue."

He laughed out loud. Mrs. Jones fell silent. They drove back to his house without any more words up until to point where Mrs. Jones pulled up on the side of the street, and Alex moved to get out of the car.

"… But I always admired her, even though I was just an intern at the time."

The words were spoken softly, stopping Alex in his tracks. He turned to look at her, but she was still facing forward.

It had been her own small way of awarding Alex for his selfless choices in the one way she could – by telling him about his parents, who he knew barely anything about. John had had such a reputation that Alex probably had him depicted as that of a hardened hero when in reality, the man was somewhat of a princess next to his mother. Perhaps that was why they'd been so madly in love; she'd once overheard John telling a coworker how Helen could do terrifying things with a frying pan.

Despite being a superspy with a license to kill and a success rate of one-hundred percent 'till the day he died… it was a surreal thought that Helen had worn the pants in the relationship. Though by the way he'd spoken of her – even just in the few times Mrs. Jones had conversed with him about anything other than their primary objective at the time – it wasn't difficult to see she had him wrapped around her finger. The feeling was mutual, if you considered how much shit Helen put up with just to stay by his side – it had been truly tragic to hear that such a young and beautiful family had been torn apart.

Mrs. Jones finally turned her gaze onto the blonde, eyes reflecting something between sadness and affection. "Good bye, Alex. See you next week."

He hesitated, but relented in the end.

"Good bye, Mrs. Jones." And then the predictably black car sped off down the road with Alex walking up the pathway to his house, opening the door and calling in loudly,

"I'm back."

Jack and Tom both appeared around the corner, Tom having donned the apron Jack had got for him last Christmas. It had been mostly a joke, which is why the thing was pink and frilly. Tom didn't seem embarrassed by this in the least, however, running forward to meet his best friend with a smile. Alex slipped off his shoes and walked forward to meet the both of them.

"Welcome home, Alex," Jack offered, the eagerness to know what happened shining clear on her face.

"So, so? What'd you do? What'd they say? What was it this time, Alex?"

Alex looked at his two best friends apologetically, but there was no regret in his voice when he announced,

"I'm totally and irreversibly screwed."

o0o0o0o

* * *

What out of character Mrs. Jones? *cough cough* What can I say? I like her.

So, the one-shot becomes a two-shot… well, it happens. I got so many requests for a follow up that I just couldn't find it in my heart to refuse. So here it is; hope it followed the last one alright. It's really different, rereading it now – the first chapter was mostly humor, and this one had a sappy ending… but I'd really like to see more back story on Helen and John in future books. I always love hearing about the protagonist's parents.

Also, Billie Piper! She's British! See? I can do British. Lolwhut I do not just know her from that one episode of Doctor Who I watched last summer who told you that.

"'And you admire her for her cooking?' The man's face lit up in a wide, open mouthed grin. Alex waited for the comedic drums to sound, but after nothing other than silence greeted the joke/question, Alex replied." Think imhappyplz (the deviantart smiley). That's what I imagined writing it. BD

Please review, I'm just dying to hear what you guys think :) Thanks for chapter one's feedback, as well! Without that, this would have never been written, I can promise you that. Please keep up the support!


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